


For A Better Future

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Explanation For The Abominable Bride, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Cemetery, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Molly Is Patient, Molly's Thoughts, POV Molly Hooper, Post-Episode: The Abominable Bride, Reincarnation, Romantic Soulmates, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes Has a Heart, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use, Soulmates, hesitant sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 09:20:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8440093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: For a long while, both Sherlock and Molly have been drawn to a certain grave in a certain cemetery. Months after the events on the plane, Sherlock explains the real importance of Emelia Ricoletti's grave and what it means to them, personally.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MizJoely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/gifts).



> So this idea sprung out of two things: a prompt given to me by **MizJoely** on Tumblr that went " _'I don’t believe in ghosts.'_ " and a soulmates AU prompt I found from a list from **silentpeaches** on Tumblr that went " _You keep going to this place, and you always notice another person here too. Neither of you know that this is the place where the both of you had died/first met in the past life._ "

“I don’t believe in ghosts.”

Molly started at the unexpected deep voice behind her. She’d been coming to this graveyard for...well, she didn’t know how long now. Almost since she had moved to London once she had finished her training at Cambridge. It had felt rather morbid getting a flat near the West Norwood Cemetery, in a way, but it had been inexpensive and it was a lovely flat. And one day she’d walked by the cemetery on a day off and saw it was open and just had an intense desire to walk in. And she’d wandered around until she’d gone to this grave.

Emelia Ricoletti.

She had no idea who the woman was, or how she had died or anything at all about her. All she knew was that it was a nice little spot, and there was a bench, and nearly every time she was there, hovering nearby, there was a striking man with curly dark hair and mesmerizing eyes that changed colours when she could catch a glimpse of them. They never spoke, never acknowledged the other at first, but she just spent time near it and settled in for some peace.

Over time she found out the man was Sherlock Holmes, and he was to become a large thorn in her side and the man she fancied most in the world. Oh, he infuriated her and he enticed her and she just didn’t want to deal with him some days and other days she craved him more than anything in the world. It was such a roller coaster of emotions, one she wasn’t sure she wanted a ride on. But she stayed. She stayed and stayed for years, perhaps for longer than she should have.

And then came Moriarty and his game and the incident on the roof, and Sherlock was gone. She got word occasionally, but without his presence, life moved on. _She_ moved on, or she tried to. Everyone thought she was normal but really, she wasn’t. Tom was an attempt to prove the world was right about her, and it failed miserably. She couldn’t do normal. She needed...different.

She needed Sherlock.

But she was never sure she would have him, never sure he would want her. Not the way she wanted him. And so they had their moments at Barts, their moments at Baker Street, their moments at her flat, where they were maddeningly close but never close enough, and she settled for what she could. And yet here at the graveyard, they never spoke, never acknowledged each other.

At least until today.

She turned to look at him. Since the incident on the plane, when he was to be sent off to Russia and John and Mary and his brother had intervened and saved him from an overdose, she hadn’t seen him. It had been a long while, nearly six months. She knew part of that was enforced drug rehabilitation his brother had put him through, and she knew during that time he had been puzzling out this new mystery, the video seen round the country and new attacks done in the name of Moriarty. She was at least privy to the fact it was all a ruse, that he had deduced the Moriarty she had done an autopsy on, who had blown his brains out on the hospital roof was well and truly James Moriarty, but that had been the most of it. She was, for the most part, left in the dark.

He looked a bit more haggard than he had before. A bit more worn down, more tired. But healthier, in a way. It was obvious he wasn’t using, which was good. She was thankful at least for that. His familiar Belstaff fit well on him instead of hanging slightly as it had when it was obvious his occasional uses were becoming less occasional and more habitual. There was more colour in his cheeks, even though he had circles under his eyes. He was pushing himself but still trying to take care of himself, trying to find some balance. “It’s midday,” she said with a small smile. “I doubt ghosts would be lurking around this particular plot.”

He didn’t really return her smile, though the corners of his mouth edged up just slightly. He nodded towards the gravestone in front of him. “Emelia Ricoletti,” he murmured. “She was fundamental to my solving the case.”

“What case?” Molly asked, tilting her head.

“On the plane. To know that Moriarty was not among the living, that he was a virus among the population now.” He hesitated, then moved to the bench where Molly was sitting. “I was familiar with her story because I wondered what had drawn me to her grave so often.”

“It’s a peaceful spot,” Molly said.

“But I was never drawn here until the day _you_ came,” he said. “And so I researched her history, the history of her life and her death and the tragedy associated with her life. And when I overdosed it mixed itself up with a drug-addled dream that gave me the clues I needed. The dream may have been more fiction than fact but there _was_ fact in it.”

“Oh?” she asked.

“There _was_ a Hooper who worked at the morgue, a woman posing as a man to practice pathology,” he replied. “And there was a man who consulted for the police, a Mr. Holmes.”

Her eyes widened. “Soulmates,” she said quietly. She had heard stories, that some rare few people were lucky enough to have soulmates, to be reincarnated time and again until they were able to be together, when the world would not keep them apart, and then stay together for centuries afterward through each rebirth. Could it...could it be she and Sherlock were fated to be soulmates? She looked at him curiously. “Is that what you’re implying?”

He laced his fingers together in his lap. “It’s said she avoided Holmes until they were forced to come to this plot. That was when he first realized she was a woman, though she hid it well. But her work was so good, better than anyone else’s in London, that he chose to keep her secret.”

“What happened to them?” she asked.

“Unfortunately, she was found out and had to leave,” he said, looking down at his hands. “She went to Canada and found a position with one of the constabularies there. He fell prey to an opium habit and died from an overdose.” He began twiddling his thumbs slightly. “It is said soulmates gravitate towards where they first met or where they died. I imagine for centuries we have come to this spot. But I doubt before we have had this conversation. Acknowledgment of soulmates is a more...recent thing.”

“Yes, it is,” she said, her throat dry.

"I do not want such a sad end,” he said quietly. “There is much in my life I have regretted, and I do not need to add another lifetime of regret for the next reincarnation.” Then he turned to her and hesitantly placed his hand on the bench between them. “Would you be willing to take a chance with me this go-round? Let this lifetime be the last that we make the mistake that our futures need to pay for?”

Her smile grew brighter, and she reached over and grasped his hand, clasping it tightly. “I will gladly take a chance on you, Sherlock,” she said. She watched as a genuine smile filled his face and then she brought their hands up and kissed his knuckles. Whatever else there was to go through, they would go through it together, and they would be fine. She had faith that this time, their future would be far brighter than their pasts had been.


End file.
